


At Random

by Quiet_Shadow



Series: Prompts and Bunnies [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Angst and Humor, Drama, Ficlet Collection, Gen, M/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of random fics and ficlets, courtesy of the TF Fanfic Generator prompts. Gen, Slash, Humor, Angst,... a bit of everything, really.<br/>Warnings supplied as needed</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Consent Issue

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Vortex / Hook / touch
> 
> Warnings: Attempted and implied rape, creepy Vortex, protective!Constructicons

Hook's head slammed into the wall with force and he fought back a scream of pain. Trying to regain focus, he tentatively glared at the mech in front of him. It was the last time he agreed to repair another mech alone.

At least, when they were in group, nobody tried to touch them like that...

The surgeon yelped when a hand passed between his legs to caress a rather sensitive point of his armor. Vortex smirked at him, pleased by the reaction.

Hook looked at him with anger. Oh, how he hated his touch. It made him feel weak like a sparkling, because the slagging mech just knew were to put his hand to make him crazy.

"Have you ever heard of the word 'consent'?" growled the captive mech.

"No," answered the Combaticon as he pressed his body against Hook. "I never needed it."

It implied far too much for Hook’s comfort.

"You're disgusting," mumbled the Constructicon as he tried to squirm away.

"And you are my prey," purred Vortex, trying to kiss him.

Suddenly, Hook smiled... and it wasn't a nice smile. He wasn't looking at Vortex. In fact, he was looking behind...

"Are you sure of that?"

Vortex froze when he heard the soft noise of a gun being pulled out of subspace. The aforementioned gun was soon pressed against the back of his head. He knew he should have destroyed the other mech’s radio...

"If you value your miserable life, I suggest you release him," was the cold statement he heard. From the voice, he guessed it must have been Bonecrusher.

"And if I don't comply?" the Combaticon asked calmly.

"Let's just say there will be a mess in this room," answered another voice. Scrapper, this time.

From the noise he heard, the other three were right behind too.

"I doubt my team-mates will be happy if I die. In fact, I doubt anyone would be happy to lose a good asset like me."

"Who cares?"

"Megatron, perhaps? He wouldn't like to lose a gestalt because of something so petty..."

Even if it was anything but petty, even for the tyrant, he just knew he had said the magic words.

He was expecting the gun to disappear from his head. He hadn't really expected the fist in his face when he had turned to smirk at the Constructicons. Vortex put a hand to his face. Hum, Long Haul had a mean left hook. He had never noticed before...

Mixmaster had managed to bypass him and help Hook to his feet before placing himself in front of him, a hand gun trained on the helicopter. Vortex chuckled; such a determined mech. It was as sickening as it was sweet.

A hand grabbed him by the wrist. Vortex looked down. Scavenger – who would have guessed the pathetic worker had the courage to do so? – snarled at him.

"Try anything like that ever again on any of us, and Megatron's wrath or no, you will end up in a smelting pool! Deal?!"

"Deal," he answered simply before leaving, the combined glares of the Constructicons following him.

So much for trying to have a good time. Who should he try with, now? Hum... perhaps Dirge or one of the other Coneheads was free.


	2. Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red Alert is in surgery, and Cliffjumper wants Inferno's forgiveness...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Cliffjumper / Inferno / forgiveness
> 
> Warnings: injuries, implied bullying, angst

“I... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

Inferno didn’t answer, nor did he acknowledge the mech who had spoken. His optics remained on the Medbay’s door, behind which his bondmate was lying in the hands of Ratchet, First Aid and Wheeljack as they tried to save the Security Director's life.

Nobody was allowed in. Anyone with less severe injuries was to be treated by Perceptor, Hoist and Grapple. That said a lot about the Lamborghini's chance of survival. Red Alert could die. Why should he listen to anyone?

He could only think about Red. His face, his voice, his smiles, his frowns, the grim determination he had when he had thrown himself at the Triplechangers, without anyone backing him up. What in Primus’ name had possessed him to do something so stupid?

The answer was simple and was standing beside him, if Inferno remembered correctly. He hadn't paid much attention to everything that was said on the battlefield and after the fights. He had only been able to stare as Red was taken back to the base while he himself was being restrained by Skyfire.

Dimly, he could remember Prime chewing out at some of his crew, he could remember Jazz talking softly to him, and Prowl asking everyone to leave him alone for the time being. Everybody had listened. Everybody, except a certain red mech.

Inferno just knew the Minibot was responsible. He had said something stupid, probably an insult or a criticism, and Red had thought he had something to prove, and now... now his friend, his mate, his love, could be – was? – dying.

He hadn’t really listened to the culprit’s babbling until now. “It was my fault. I... I didn’t think he would take things so far. Will you... will you ever forgive me?” he heard.

Something in Inferno broke. He wasn’t the one who should grant forgiveness; it was Red. The Minibot was already talking as if the Security Director had no chance of survival despite Ratchet’s help. Red Alert couldn’t die. He wasn’t allowed to die before him!

The fire truck chuckled darkly. “Cliffjumper...” he started as he turned toward his fellow Autobot. The Minibot froze. In the back of his CPU, a small voice was shouting at him to run away. Inferno’s optics were almost white. “If Red doesn’t make it, I will kill you myself. Got it?”

Cliffjumper nodded dumbly and took a step back. He turned his optics toward the door and began praying. There wasn’t anything else he could do anyway.


	3. Battlefield Repairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Aid saves a life. Dead End isn't happy about it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Dead End/First Aid/my bad
> 
> Warnings: ... Hum, nothing too bad? Aside of Dead End being Dead End=depressed.

The sky was cloudy today. It was nice, he supposed.

Well, he didn’t especially care, per se. Weather wasn’t his main concern right now.

Actually, it was the hands which were trying to reconnect some of his damaged systems and weld his externals and internals injuries, even though he hadn’t asked to be repaired by anybody. But you could trust the Autobots to act on something which wasn’t their concern.

So now he was utterly defenceless, until someone finished what he had begun. If only the medic could miss and make a deadly mistake...

But he should have known he wouldn’t get the chance. The mech who had the crazy idea to repair him was young but already too experienced to do something so stupid.

Even if the idea to look after him was pretty stupid in the first place.

“I know a medic’s duty is to help injured mechs, no matter which side of the war he’s on. Still, did you really have to try to repair me?”

Evenly, the Autobot answered.

“You said so yourself; it’s my duty, even if I don’t especially like treating Decepticons.”  
“You could have avoided me. There’s still some injured on your side,” the Decepticon calmly pointed out.  
“Yeah, but none of them are at risk of deactivation within the next few breems. Besides, Ratchet has them under control.”

Ah. Right. If the sociopath in charge of repairs for the opposing army was looking after the others, there was no need to panic. For all his temper, he was skilled. Even Hook, of all the mechs he knew, had a grudging respect for his work.

There was silence for a few minutes before the medic exclaimed loudly:

“There! I managed to repair the main damages! It’s not pretty, but it shouldn’t break easily and I’m sure the Constructicons will be able to finish. You’re saved!”

The Decepticon sighed loudly upon hearing the new. So much for his hope of dying right here. He should had known Primus wasn’t merciful enough, if he existed, to grant his wish.

“You Autobots have no respect for a person's life and wishes, do you?” He deadpanned, shaking his head softly.

As he was lying on the ground, that wasn’t exactly easy.

The medic seemed indignant he even made the suggestion, because he briefly stopped his work to answer him.

“Of course we respect people’s lives! We’re not like you Decepticons!”  
“I’m sure you aren’t. But I noticed you didn’t say anything about their decisions...”  
“Their decisions too,” answered the medic before looking again at his patient’s circuits.  
“But right now, you didn’t.”

The medic looked puzzled for a second.

“Excuse me?”  
“Did it occur to you I may not have wanted to be saved, Autobot?”

The arms still plunged in his insides stopped moving before being retracted. Slowly, the medic turned his head toward him. Dead End looked at him sternly.

The Autobot stared at him some more, as if he had just begun to fully understood exactly what he had done, and especially who he had repaired, before asking.

“Ok, I’m not sure I should ask why you didn’t want to. You ‘Cons are strange like that, from what I heard, but... If you didn’t want to be repaired... Why didn’t you say anything?”  
“Because you never asked me in the first place," answered Dead End. "Of course, as you began to work on my chassis while I was still offline, I couldn't voice my wishes, could I?”

First Aid looked sheepish as he passed a hand behind his head.

“Oops. My bad?”


	4. Drunken Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramjet does stupid things when he's drunk. Stupid like, grabbing the wrong aft...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Vortex/Ramjet/mistake
> 
> Warnings: Vortex is involved; that should count as a warning. Oh, and drunk mechs. And implied Ramjet/Thrust/Dirge pairing.

It was a Pit of a party, and Ramjet had drank more than his fair share of Energon, but who cared?

For once since they had landed on this pitiful, fleshbags infested planet, they had won the battle with the Autobots and, to his satisfaction, he had managed to send one of those two cursed Twins plunging toward the ground.

The resulting sound when the mech had hit the ground would be forever kept in a part of his CPU.

Even if he doubted he was dead, for the Autobots had a skilled medic, it was more than satisfactory. Especially if one considered the number of times he had ended up in the Constructicons’ hands because of them.

He wasn’t the only one pleased with himself. Even Megatron was smilling, and that was rare enough to be mentionned.

Laughting like crazy at what Skywarp was doing behind Starscream’s back, he looked around for his wingmates. He was feeling in a very good mood tonight. In fact, he was in a very loving mood, and he knew for a fact neither Dirge nor Thrust would say no to a good merging.

Keep his hands at a low level, he tried to grab his nearest wingmate aft.

Too bad for him that, being drunk like he was, he miscalculed and grabbed the wrong aft. The mech he grabbed stiffened under his touch, before asking calmly – far too calmy – in a soft voice:

“Care to tell me what you think you’re doing, Ramjet?”

Upon hearing him, Ramjet froze. Oh no, please Primus, someone tell him it was a nightmare, someone tell him he had no made a move on...

He instantly let go of the other’s aft and backed away slowly, trying not to show how nervous he was.

“So...sorry, Vortex,” he sputtered nervously. “It was just a stupid mistake! Really!”

The Combaticon chuckled darkly, and Ramjet felt his spark sink. If you wanted to survive in the Decepticons ranks, there was one thing to remember at all costs: never try to pull a move of any sort on anyone stronger than you. If you do, you’re on your own.

It was really no surprise to see that everyone around them looked away or had already gone somewhere else.

It was never good when the resident interrogator chuckled like that. And it was even less good for you when he smiled like that.

“I’m sure it was.”

Ramjet cried out when the other caught him by the neck and pulled him to him. Their optics locked for a second before the Combaticon started to drag him towards the living quarters of the crew, without anyone trying to stop him.

Of course, no one was feeling generous enough or intoxicated enough to try to stand between Vortex and his prey.

Smiling to himself, the Combaticon pushed the Conehead against a wall, enjoying the gasp of pain and surprise he heard.

Putting his lips near the other mech’s audio, he added:

“And I’m also sure it’s going to be the last time.”


	5. Verbal War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost and injured in the middle of nowhere, two enemies have another style of war...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Slingshot / Skywarp / damaged
> 
> Warnings: Hum, Slingshot and Skywarp aren't polite to each other?

Usually the aftermarth of a battle is full of silence, because the two ennemy factions had the good grace to take their injured and leave.

However, two people seemed to have missed the memo, mostly because they had been alone when they had come across each other in the sky during their respective patrols.

Leaving an Autobot and a Decepticon alone, even without weapons would likely result in the deactivation of either of them.

Two flying mech were stranded on the ground, heavily damaged and glaring at each other with barely contened fury.

They couldn’t really move, as it was too painful and too dangerous to do so, but they could talk. Or more exactly, they could shout. And anyone in the vicinity would have surprised at the rather large vocabulary they knew when it came to insults.

Of course, since they had begun more than three Earth hours ago, they were running low on creativity; but they were still at it.

“Decepticreep!”   
“Stupid piece of slag!”  
“Pathetic scrap metal reject!”  
“Autoscum!”  
“Your mother was a trash compactor!”  
“I’m a robot, not a squishy, so I don’t have a mother!”, growled one of the two mechs, “And your creator is a rust infected-idiot!”  
“Look who’s talking!” Snorted the other mech. “It’s your fault we crashed here!”  
“My fault?! You’re the one who ran into me!”  
“And you were the one pulling totally stupids movements in the air!”  
“I’m not the one who sent us spiralling madly around!”  
“And I’m not the one stupid enough to teleport next to a mountain at incontrolable speed!”

That was true, Skywarp had to agreed. But he couldn’t exactly control the direction he took when a airborne nuisance was obscuring his sight.

So, he hadn’t been able to avoid the mountain; what was the problem? It wasn’t exactly the first time it happened, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. And unless he was mistaken, it wasn’t him who held the record of the most impressive crashes, but the Aerialbot Fireflight.

Even him had to admit he was impressed; how someone so young had been able to surpass him in just two or three Earth years was a wonder...

He mumbled when his left wing began to ache, reminding him he was injured and unable to go back to the Nemesis alone. With his comm link disabled, it wouldn’t be for a while. Hopefully, Thundercracker would come once he realized he wasn’t back for his shift, if only to kill him himself.

Well, at least he had won the fight.

Or he thought he had, but Slingshot wasn’t about to agree with him on that.

Skywarp growled. Primus, he hated this Aerialbot!

Why, of the all the flying mechs in the Autobots forces, did he have to find this one? With Silverbolt, he could have managed, or even with Skydive or Fireflight, even if the latter was truly a menace for everything that flew, but Slingshot?

Someone up there really hated him.

The mech knew more cuss words than him and he was almost as stuborn!

If he had not felt obligated to not be bested by this stupid excuse of a flyer, he would have gladly fallen into recharge to save his energy. But as it was, Slingshot wouldn’t let go of the verbal war.

Still, some of the comments he made, especially those about ‘Screamer, were valide and very accurate. He had taken notes and planned to use them himself when he was able to reach the base.

But he wasn’t going to tell the Aerialbot he had given him ideas. Not even over his dead body!

Trying to look more smug than he felt right now, he began a new litany of curses, instantly followed by the other injured mech.

What else could two ennemies do when they were damaged in the middle of nowhere, after all?


	6. Your Attention, Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scrapper was having a bad day, and Drag Strip was unfortunate enough to be at the wrong place at the wrong time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Scrapper/Drag Strip/violent
> 
> Warnings: Scrapper being ticked off?
> 
> I hadn't noticed before, but back when I started, it seems I really had a thing for Decepticons-centered prompts...

Of all the Constructicons, Scrapper was one of the hardest to anger and even if you did, you had a better chance to survive his wrath than, say, Bonecrusher’s wrath. The only one who could be considered meeker was Scavenger, and Scavenger didn’t really count since anyone could beat him into submission... when his gestalt brothers weren’t around, of course.

It was like a game, really, to see what would push the reserved engineer over the edge and send him on a killing spree. Over the vorns, nobody had ever seen him lose it and start shooting at everyone. Threatening, yes, but he never did anything else, probably because the other Constructicons did that for him.

But now, he was ready to make an exception. Or rather, he already did, Drag Strip mused as he screamed in pain as Scrapper ripped off a part of his armor before plunging a hand into his wires and circuits. The Stunticon had really been at the wrong place at the wrong time, it seemed.

“Can I have your attention, please?” the engineer called cheerfully. He didn’t really need to; as soon as Drag Strip had yelled, everybody had stopped bickering at each others or stopped laughing at Scrapper’s pitiful attempt to make everyody stay quiet. Now, they weren’t laughing anymore. Something was very wrong with this picture. It looked like Scrapper had finally lost it.

Looking at the various injured under his watch, the Constructicon sobbered. “I had a very, very bad day,” he said quietly. Behind his mask, he was smilling, and it wasn’t a nice smile. Drag Strip tried to jerk away, but Scrapper’s hand was firmly connected. “Not only did we get our collective afts kicked by those stupid Autobrats, but my latest project is now ruined no thanks to them. Hook was injured as well as Scavenger and Mixamaster, and Long Haul and Bonecrusher are still trying to sort the mess back on the battlefield and recover what can be recovered, and as such they are either in stasis or can’t take their shifts.”

He paused and glanced at the injured, who were looking at him with incredulous faces. Drag Strip was beginning to feel nervous. Ok, Scrapper wasn’t a happy mech, but couldn’t he just stop tugging at these wires, pretty please? Not that he would say that out loud; no Decepticon ever said ‘please’.

The Constructicon’s engineer resumed his speech. “So gentlemechs, and I use this term very loosely, I’m now struck here with you, meaning a whole bunch of ungrateful, stupid little fraggers instead of getting myself plastered with Mixmaster’s special mix as I wished, because I’m the only one remotely competent to keep you from being sent to the Pits. I can’t work on my own team-mates because they aren’t the priority right now. As you can guess, I’m not amused. I already had to deal with an angry Megatron and a bitchy Starscream, who used the few amount of patience I had left. I’m tired, hungry, and not in the mood for any one to protest, to try to escape the Medbay or to try to make me lose my CPU, because I can assure you that if I do, nobody will walk out of this room alive.”

Drag Strip yelped in pain as the engineer twisted something inside him. Scrapper chuckled darkly at hearing the sound of pain. “Now, will you stay still and quiet or do I have to turn violent?” he snarled at everyone, his fingers plunged in the yellow Stunticon’s torso gripping at some wires. He pulled them in a threatening way, and Drag Strip could sense them sparking and starting to be disconnected. He had no idea if they were vital wires, but if the engineer pulled just a little more...

Drag Strip just nodded fearfully in defeat, imited by several other ‘Cons. If Scrapper wasn’t violent yet, they certainly didn’t want to find out what the Constructicon considered to be violent behaviour. Not when they were injured and in need of repairs, anyway.

In the background, Rumble smiled triumphaly at his sullen twin. It looked like he had won the betting pool...


	7. Blindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up without seeing anything is scary. Thankfully, Red Alert has a friend nearby...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Prowl/Red Alert/touch
> 
> Warnings: aftermath of a battle, implied Red Alert/Inferno

It’s never good to come out of stasis and be greeted by darkness. In fact, it’s downright scary, and for a while, you can only wonder if you’re really awake or if you’re still dreaming.

And when you realize you’re really awake, you begin to feel afraid.

“Red Alert? Don’t worry; everything’s going to be fine.”

Prowl’s voice. An island of calm in a sea of chaos. And his hands on his arm, an anchor which holds him to the present, to reality.

It’s not Inferno hands, and it’s not his touch, but Red Alert manages to relax anyway. Prowl has this effect on him; he knows he can let him approach, he knows he’s not an enemy, he knows he’s not going to hurt him, ever.

Still, the darkness is scary, and he whimpers softly.

“Where... I am?”

His voice sounds strange and he has trouble pronouncing some words. Has his vocalizer suffered in some way?

“The Medbay. You were injured in the last battle. Do you remember?”

Yes. Now that Prowl is talking, he remembers. He remembers the way the Seekers took them apart (scattered them), shooting at them with everything they had. He remembers taking a shot in the face, and he’s surprised to still be alive, until he realizes it must have been a null ray from Starscream.

He remembers the shock and the pain.

And for a terrifying moment, he remembers Inferno going down, hit on the waist by a well placed shot from one of the Decepticons.

It’s only the hands of Prowl on his shoulders, which stop him from sitting up and looking around in panic, even if he can’t use his optics.

His touch does wonders, but no miracles.

“In...Inferno...”

“Still offline. Don’t worry”, Prowl adds, “he’s going to make it. Nothing vital was damaged, but he had to undergo surgery. Ratchet said he would probably come online in a few joors.”

Red Alert lets out a sigh of relief. For a second, he had thought...

“Why...why can’t I see?”

“Starscream’s last shot damaged your optics and messed with a good half of your sensors,” answers the tactician with a hint of sympathy. “Ratchet and Wheeljack are still working on new ones.”  
“Should I be... worried or relieved?” He manages to say, wincing a little at hearing the static produced by his damaged vocalizer.

He hears Prowl chuckle. It’s a nice sound and he wishes he could hear it more often, but he knows it’s not likely to happen around him. Around Jazz, perhaps, especially if they are alone, and before they end up in one room together.

He doesn’t know if they do it anyway or if they just talk and go to recharge in each other's arms, like he and Inferno often do. He never allows the cameras to watch when they are alone together. Unlike what some mechs think, he values the privacy of couples.

Speaking of the cameras... How is he going to do his duties? As Security Officer, he just can't stop working. And if the ‘Cons attack again?

“My...my cameras...”

“I will take your shift until further notice. Try to stay calm and don’t make Ratchet strap you down on the berth this time, would you?”

“Why... would he?”

“Well, there are rumors, you see,” begins the other officer.

“He...doesn’t do... that every time I... come here, for... Primus’ sake! Who...started this... rumor? Sideswipe?”

He could practically hear him smiling. Prowl isn’t the most friendly mech one sees everyday, and, neither is Red Alert. But it doesn’t mean they don’t care for everyone on board. They’re officers; it’s their role to keep the crew safe from any attack.

Even if that mean they have to keep their distance from everyone or be hated for their enforcement of protocols and regulations.

Not that everyone think they are sparkless or that they both have a stick up their afts. Inferno doesn’t think so. Jazz doesn’t think so. Optimus Prime knows why they behave as they do.

It’s enough for them.

Prowl’s voice pulls him from his musings.

“I must go now. Take care of yourself, Red Alert.”

“Yeah...”

He feels Prowl pat him on the shoulder before letting go of his hand, which he kept in his own until then. He hears the shift of the doors, and then the silence.

Suddenly, perhaps because nobody is touching him, things don’t feel right anymore.

What if Prowl had lied to him? What if Inferno...?

He just hopes Ratchet and Wheeljack are going to be fast; he doesn’t think he will be able to stay in the dark for much longer.

Not until he could feel Prowl or Inferno’s hand against him once again.


	8. Shower Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thundercracker's day had started as rotten, what's with crashing in the mud and being captured by the Autobots. Then they decided to wash him, and perhaps the day wasn't quite so rotten anymore...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Thundercracker / Bluestreak / captured
> 
> Warnings: slash, accidental molesting
> 
> Notes: a very old fic I had never published at the time for some reason. Not my finest, but it was one of my first tentative at writing TF slash. Hope you'll like. :)

He just knew he shouldn’t have set a foot out of his berth this morning. First off, he had woken up to the 'sweet' voice of Starscream who was screaming slagging murder against Megatron.

Nothing new there, but he was sure their leader had fired his fusion cannon sooner than normal. Eh; perhaps Starscream’s screams had caused him to get a processor ache, this time, making Megatron even more short-tempered than usual?

Then, he had only managed to get low-grade energon for refueling, and he wasn’t the only one; half of the base did too, scrapping the latest barrel they had to the littlest drops left. This could only meant one thing: they had to go attack a human settlement and gather energy.

Just wonderful. Especially with the rain who kept pouring since a couple of days. At least, he had not been hit by lightning as he moved. Starscream, however, hadn’t managed to avoid one, to Skywarp greatest joy and Thundercracker’s amusement. It certainly wasn’t Starscream’s day, was it?

His amusement had dropped very quickly as they had encountered the Autobots while attacking. Of course they would come to save the humans; it was stupid to expect them to take a few days off for once.

Perhaps it was Primus way to make fun of them. It would explain a lot of things...

So, they had fought, and he had managed to be caught in one of the Twins’ infamous Jet Judo practice. The slaggers almost always managed to get him, no matter how hard he tried to throw them away.

And as usual, he had lost. Next thing he knew, he was on the ground, his wings, canopy and back hurting like the Pit. If he managed to catch Sunstreaker alone without the red menace he called his brother by his side, he was going to slagging kill him. Should he crush his wheels, like he amused himself in crushing his wings?

To add insult to the injury, he had to crash in the mud, of course, because it wouldn’t have been so amusing if he had not. Primus hated him; he just knew that.

His paintjob was ruined, but it wasn’t his biggest worry. This dubious honor was reserved to the cuffs locking his arms in a secure position and the gun he could feel behind his back as he walked down the hallways of the Autobots’ base.

Because Starscream, this slagger, had let him behind, as well as Skywarp, Megatron, and about everybody else; only Hook had briefly paused and looked his way, frowning, as they retreated. Well, he couldn’t say he was surprised since it wasn’t exactly the first time it happened, but it was always a bad surprise. He wondered why Hook kept looking at him like that; did he have a crush on him or something?

Eh. Whatever. The end result was the same: he had been left behind to be captured, as he had been unable to move on his own. He was going to kill both his wing mates for that when he managed to go back to the Nemesis.

The affront didn’t stop there. The Autobots, stupid, sensitive fools they were, felt they had the duty to keep him in relative good health until an agreement could be reached with Megatron concerning his release.

He just knew he was going to stay in the Autobots’ brig for a good while. Well, at least he wouldn’t have to share the same living quarters than some of the maniacs back at the headquarter...

Instead, he had to face the cranky, half-crazy medic with the ‘Throwing Arm from the Pit’ and the ‘Flying Kick of Doom’. He had experienced the second himself in one of Megatron’s plan which, come to think of it, had turned into another defeat.

Said medic had glanced at him, scanned him, assured everyone he wasn’t about to deactivate just yet, and said he wouldn’t start working on him before he was clean enough.

So, no only he had been captured but he also had to be cleaned so the medic could have a good look at him. And with his hands bound behind his back, there was no way Thundercracker could do it himself.

Instead, one of the Autobots would have to bath him.

And unfortunately for him, perhaps because they felt like torturing him in unusual and cruel ways, it was the very talkative grey gunner who would do so.

Oh joy.

Thundercracker mumbled as the Autobot chatted quietly for himself. If he tried to soothe him by speaking, he was doing a terrible job. Not that he had a bad voice, on the contrary; but the way he kept talking and talking and talking was just rubbing him the wrong way.

If only he could stop for a few breems...

“Now be careful, the floor is a bit slippery in front of you and I don’t think you would like to fall again today. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are getting better and better at Jet Judo don’t you think? How are your wings doing anyway? I know Ratchet did what he could to ease the pain back on the battlefield, but you seemed to hurt a lot. Do they still hurt? If they hurt too much, I’m sorry; I will bring you back to the Medbay as soon as possible...”

Thundercracker stayed silent. The gunner sure talked a lot and seemed obvious to the fact he was the enemy, but the gun in his grasp was still firmly aimed at the center of the Seeker’s back.

And there was three more mechs behind them who would take him down if he tried anything suspicious. Perhaps Autobots weren’t as stupid as he thought, finally...

“Stop here,” he heard one of the Autobot say – perhaps Hound, but he wasn’t sure; he couldn’t remember the voice of every single ‘bot around here.

Dutifully, as he didn’t want to anger anyone, Thundercracker stopped walking and turned toward an open door. The gun in his back disappeared and he was mentally relieved for a breem. Glancing at the armed Autobots, he entered the new room without being told.

He could heard them talking between them.

“Need our help, Bluestreak?” said the voice of Ironhide.  
“No, no, it will be alright. It’s not hard to do, and he had been rather quiet since we’re here, so I doubt he start getting into trouble now. I really don’t need anyone help...”  
“As you wish. Just call if you need a hand,” answered one of the other Autobots – Tracks, if he wasn’t mistaken. Obviously, the other Autobots weren’t any fonder of the gunner’s babblings than he did.

Thundercracker heard the noise of the door locking – definitively not stupids for once – and his shoulders dropped. Alone with a mech more talkative than Skywarp on high-grade. He just hoped his sanity would survive.

At least, there was the water...

“Just a few minutes, please; I need to take supplies to wash you, but you can already get under the water. The mud isn’t dry now, so it should go easily enough...”

The Seeker didn’t bother to listen to the rambling of the Autobot. Instead, he walked to the racks and stood quietly under the shower, enjoying the flow of hot water running down on his body. Oh Primus it was so good!

Seeing he was so quiet and obedient, Bluestreak subspaced his gun and began to search for soap, cleaning solution and sponges. He had a job to do, after all.

As the gunner started to reach for a bottle of cleaning solution, Thundercracker pondered his luck at getting out. It didn’t seem so great. He knew there was a few ‘bots outside on guard duty and as it was, if he tried anything to escape, they would probably come in to hold him down while he was cleaned.

He didn’t want to live that, thank you very much; he had dignity, after all.

He yelped when he felt a hand being put on his waist. The voice of the gunner sounded very close to his audios.

“Ey, stay calm! I’m not here to hurt you! I just wanted to ask you to not move too much while I wash your back! It’s not easy to clean your wings properly, so stay still for a few minutes please...”

Did he ever stop talking? Thundercracker sighed as he nodded for the gunner to begin. It was humiliating to be treated like that by the enemy, but he had no choice in the matter. Besides, he didn’t want to stay as dusty and muddy as he was now.

An uncomfortable silence filled the place as Bluestreak began to pass a sponge everywhere on the Seeker’s back, moving carefully in case there was an injury under the mud. And sure there was some here and there, circuits sparking softly under deep gashes and torn metal. Not good, the gunner thought. It would take more than the water from the washracks to actually cause damages, but sparking circuits weren’t good either way. And they were always painful.

He didn’t want to cause anymore pain to the prisoner if he could.

Thundercracker shuddered when the gunner run the sponge on a particularly sensitive point in the middle of his back. The exact point where Skywarp let his hands running and where he used his glossa to send him into...

Why did he have to think about that!? He didn’t need to have his circuits heating right now! But the soft pressure felt so good...

He moaned softly when the gunner put a hand on one of his wing. Did the little fool not know how sensitive it was for a flyer? Probably not. Then again, the mech had doorwings... It wasn’t as sensitive as wings, but it was also a rather good spot to be touched...

The blue Seeker cursed mentally while jerking away from the Autobot. Slag! He didn’t want to overload here! He would never be able to see an Autobot face to face if he did.

Fortunately for him, the gunner didn’t seem to understand why he had acted like that. Instead, he was surprised and his voice carried a genuine worry.

“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry if I did, with all the mud I just can’t see where you have bruises and I really must clean you everywhere because Ratchet is going to have a fit if we bring you in the Medbay and you aren’t spotless; he hates working on dirty mechs, though he doesn’t really have the choice on the battlefield...”  
“I’m fine,” snarled Thundercracker, interrupting the long monologue. “Just get over with it.”

Bluestreak blinked, surprised by the outburst.

“Uh... right. Could you turn? I almost finished you back, time to do your canopy...”

Thundercracker cursed Primus mentally but complied, trying to not look at the gunner face. Bluestreak was a little confused by the Seeker’s attitude but shrugged and resumed his work, carefully cleaning away the mud on the Seeker’s canopy.

He winced a little when he saw the deep cracks in the glass. That had to hurt...

For his part, Thundercracker tried very hard to not moan in pleasure under the gunner’s touch. Slaggit, could the little fool stop touching him there?! He began to shake as Bluestreak’s fingers dug either side of his canopy, trying to reach the mud still caught there.

Oh, it felt so good...

He was pretty sure anybody seeing now could see he just wanted more.

And still, the gunner continued his task like if he wasn’t seeing anything wrong. And, Thundercracker supposed, he probably wasn’t. Why, oh why did he had to end up with the only Autobot who seemed to be stupid enough to not know what he was doing to him?

For his part, Bluestreak was even more confused. He stopped his work slowly. Was he hurting the Decepticon? He hadn’t said anything so far, but perhaps he was just too proud to say anything to him. He wouldn’t be the first one.

Brawn or Ironhide, for example, always tried to hide how much they were hurt sometimes, to the great displeasure of Ratchet, who threw everything he could get his hands onto at them.

Still, the soft moans he could heard from the Seeker didn’t sound like the ones he knew from someone who was hurt. He could really see Thundercracker’s face, as the Seeker looked at everything around him except him, but he was still moaning in pain...

No, it wasn’t pain... It was too soft, almost like a purr... It was more like... His optics widened as he realized exactly what the noises were.

“Oh Primus!” he cried.

Thundercracker looked at him. His face was slightly flushed.

Bluestreak took a step back, trying to avoid Thundercracker’s gaze while doing so.

“Ah...euh... Sorry! I didn’t want to... I hadn’t realized that you... I... I’m going to call the other to get you to the Medbay...”

Thundercracker tried to glare at him without much success. With his systems almost overloaded from the pleasure the gunner had inadvertently caused, it was hard enough to stay standing. He leaned against the wall to stop himself to falling on the floor.

If he had been able to do so, he would have grabbed the young Autobot and shaken him... or shag him until he was satisfied. There was no way he would stay in this state for the other Autobots to see.

He didn’t fancy the idea of fooling around with an Autobot, but at least this one had a pretty face and didn’t seem to hate his guts, so he supposed he wouldn’t intentionally hurt him. Pit, he hadn’t even realized he had excited him!

“Ah, slaggit! Don’t you dare to stop now! I don’t care if you’re sorry! Just finish what you have started before I go insane!” he almost begged. Almost, because a Decepticon doesn’t beg; he makes the others beg.  
“But... but your injuries,” Bluestreak protested weakly.  
“I’m not mortally wounded,” growled the Seeker. “I will be fine.”  
“But... I don’t want to molest you!”  
“You Autobots have a strange definition of ‘molesting’,” grumbled Thundercracker. “I want you to continue; what’s your problem?!”

Bluestreak was uncomfortable; he didn’t want to force himself on Thundercracker. But it was the other mech who was asking him to. But he had been the one who had gotten him in this state in the first place.

He gulped when he saw the Seeker slip onto the floor, spreading his legs in a very subjective manner while moaning softly.

“Please...” he heard him whimper.

Bluestreak groaned. He couldn’t leave the mech like that, could he? And if he called the others in... Well, it wouldn’t be proper; Thundercracker was really in a very awkward situation right now, and he doubted he would take kindly at being shown around in this state...

What could he really do, besides helping like he could? Giving up, Bluestreak lowered himself on the floor.

Thundercracker smiled victoriously when the Autobot crouched down in front of him.

“...Perhaps I should stop the water before we...” started the gunner, trying to gain some time.  
“I don’t care; let... let it run,” answered the Decepticon.

The two mechs stared at each other for a few seconds.

“Have you... have you ever do that before?” asked the Seeker.

If he was so clueless about interfacing, it could explain a few things...

“That… _that_ , or _that_ in the wash racks?” blushed the gunner. “Because I can’t really understand the question if you’re not more accurate. Besides, it’s a private matter you know and I don’t think I should talk about it with an enemy...”  
“Nevermind...” answered Thundercracker before he suddenly kissed the Autobot, trying to insert his glossa into the other mech’s mouth.

Bluestreak optics widened under the shock, but he didn’t try to back away. Instead, he opened his mouth, letting the Decepticon put his glossa inside.

Thundercracker wasn’t a bad kisser. Sure, it was different from Jazz or Prowl, but not bad... Less uncertain, a bit needy, normal if one considered the situation the Decepticon was in, soft and hard in the same time, as if trying to be both gentle and dominant.

In a way, it suited the blue Decepticon, he supposed.

Putting his hand on the captive’s waist, he pulled him closer to him. Thundercracker’s injuries didn’t seem so bad, or at least they weren’t making him suffer too much right now. He was obviously in need of, well, a hand or two, since his were pinned behind his back and he couldn’t finish himself off.

Sure, he still wasn’t so sure about that, but it was his fault, so he had to repair the damages the best he could. And if that mean ‘playing’ a little with the Seeker, well...

He just hoped nobody would see them like that. It would be humiliating.

The others wouldn’t come in, since he had no reason to call back up and they knew he wouldn’t call them unless he really had a problem. Though he would have to come down with a good excuse for staying so long alone with the prisoner.

And Ratchet hadn’t said exactly when he wanted the ‘Con back in the Medbay. He had said ‘as soon as you can’, but it was pretty vague, wasn’t it? Well, perhaps he could indulge in a bit of fun...

Just for once.


End file.
